


Ice Cream

by Blueberryshortcake



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blue's Micro Aus, Chef AU, Gen, Ice Cream Servers AU, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 08:06:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueberryshortcake/pseuds/Blueberryshortcake
Summary: Grif and Church work at an ice cream stand, Wash and Simmons are chefs, sometimes worlds can click.





	Ice Cream

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from creatrixanimi: Grif and church or Simmons and wash friendship for the micro au fic thing

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“You ever wonder why we’re here?” 

“No, I’m pretty confident I was cursed for the misdeeds of my past life and having to serve soft serve ice cream with you to a bunch of knee high monsters is my punishment.” 

“Dude.”

“Grif, we’re here because it is hot, people want ice cream, capitalism runs rampant in our society, and my girlfriend makes fun of me when she has to pay for our dates. We’re here because we have to be. Because we need money. Because we are poor. Because a masters in computer science means that you have to work a part time job at an amusement park.”

“We get free ice cream too,” Grif pointed out, taking a dipped cone and filling it with chocolate soft serve.

“Not in front of the customers! Come on.” Church huffed. He tapped his name badge that had supervisor engraved in all it’s golden painted plastic glory.

Grif snorted and rolled his eyes. Church being a supervisor wasn’t so much because Church cared one damn bit about the company or how things were presented, but more because he was a control freak. He couldn’t help being the one in charge. That was fine with Grif. It meant Church worked himself up and did most of the tasks because everyone else did it wrong. 

Grif leaned against the back freezer and licked his ice cream. Plus, once you got past the fact that Church was an asshole, he was actually a cool guy to hang out with. Grif made sure to get all the Church shifts he could.

“Look sharp, I think I see some potential clients,” Church squinted through his glasses, sweat covered his forehead. The freezers didn’t do much to help keep them cool. They were basically set up in a box with electricity and no insulation. Grif had tried to take a nap in the Popsicle freezer once… it hadn’t ended well.

“What are they doing?” Grif asked not bothering to straighten. 

“What do you think they’re doing? They’re doing what they’re always doing! They’re standing around and talking. When I see there’s potential customers around they are always standing around and talking. That’s what they’re doing today, that’s what they’ll be doing tomorrow, that’s what they will be doing for the rest of our fucking lives.” 

“Hi,” Grif said with his charming customer service smile. “Can we get you anything?”

Church jumped and spun around. The customers during Church’s rant had come up to the side of their booth looking up at their menu items.

“Grif!” Church whisper shrieked at him before turning to their clientele. 

-

“It could be fun,” Simmons said doubtfully. Wash didn’t seem convinced either.

 

Working in restaurants had been… hard for Simmons, but if he wanted to get anywhere in the industry his techniques in molecular gastronomy would only take him so far. Kitchens were loud, chaotic, filled with sharp knives and so much attitude. Every chef he met was a king in their domain who loved to step on their subjects. 

Every job he ever had he got fired or quit. He was too timid, or too slow, or too nervous, or too pissed off by the bullshit he had to go through. 

Until he got hired by Wash. 

On the outside Wash looked like your typical chef. Tattoos all up his arms, and an air of competency and arrogance. 

But Wash listened and watched. He taught.

Not to say that Simmons had never been frustrated in Wash’s kitchen. The man was demanding. He wanted things perfect, he wanted them fast, and he was damn good at doing what he did so he didn’t accept excuses. Simmons had almost quit. He had his apron in a ball in his hand about to throw it on the ground.

“Have a smoke break and come back in,” Wash wiped his face with his forearm, “And then do it again.”

“I won’t come back!” Simmons’ voice was high with anger and humiliation. He had made the dish six times already, and each time Wash would give a frustrated grunt and tell him to redo it. 

“I know you don’t get it but i have talent! I know how food works! I know how it makes people feel! I know flavour combinations! I can cook!”

Wash gave him a confused look. “What?” 

“I can cook damn it! Just let me cook!” 

“I know you can cook,” Wash crossed his arms. “Why do you think you’re here?”

“That seems to be one of life’s greatest mysteries because it doesn’t seem like it’s to get any food out!! It’s just doing the same thing over and over because there’s a carrot out of place!” Simmons squawked.

Wash smiled at him. It was an awkward, but kind smile. One Simmons didn’t expect from his hardass boss. 

“You get nervous and overthink. When you keep doing it over and over it means every time you do it you’ll think less and less about what to do. You’ll just do it. I know you’re good, Dick. That’s why you’re here. I think you’re going to change this industry for the better, but before you can do that, you need to train. Take a smoke break, come back, do it again. You can leave if you want, but I hope you don’t.” 

They had been best friends since then. Wash was a mentor. One that Simmons had desperately needed, and Simmons was an inventor, invigorator, he got Wash interested in food again after working so long in an industry that ground chefs up.

The rare day off they would be at Wash’s apartment planning new menus, talking new ideas and techniques. Planning their restaurant.

Their restaurant. Only a month and it would be the grand opening.

He wanted to be doing something, anything. They had so many things to get ready and no time to do it. 

But their designer Franklin had thrown them out. “I don’t need you two hovering while we install lights. Go have fun. Take the rest of the day off! Fill your hole!”

“What?” Simmons squeaked.

“With ice cream!” Franklin finished cheerfully. “The fair is pretty close. Why don’t you take a look?” 

Simmons sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was have fun. Working was fun!

“It has been awhile… taking a break might help us focus. Fair food might give some inspiration, weren’t you talking about some sort of soft serve technique?” Wash asked. 

“I could… yeah…” Simmons said slowly. Research, research was productive. Their dessert menu still had a few wrinkles. “It is hot… I didn’t wear sunscreen…” He could feel the sunburns forming on his cheeks already. 

“Right, ice cream on me,” Wash lead him up to the booth. One of the employees was turned away ranting at his co-worker.

“–That’s what they’ll be doing tomorrow, that’s what they will be doing for the rest of our fucking lives.”

The one leaning against the back freezer gave Simmons a charming smile and Simmons was lost in it.

Sometimes two worlds can click together at the right moment.


End file.
